Wristcutters: A Daria story -- Revamp
by The Revampire
Summary: Based on the movie Wristcutters: a love story. Jane: You know you're going to hell. Daria: Anything that gets me out of Lawndale - A tree grows in Lawndale. Daria got out of Lawndale…


**This story is a revamp of the original. So, same plot, but different wording, and fixed inconsistencies. The original was posted under the penname: Charliefox2012. See this profile for information/explanation and links to original work.**

**Disclaimer for entire story: Characters belong to whoever created them and I make absolutely no money off this.**

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Wristcutters: A Daria story (REVAMP)

Chapter one

When consciousness greeted her, Daria didn't open her eyes immediately. With what she could assess though simply feeling - the ground being uncomfortably hot and hard, a dry wind blowing around her, and the much too bright sun overhead - something told her she would not like what she saw.

It was evident that she was outside, but she noticed that these elements weren't usual for Lawndale. So, obviously, she wasn't in Lawndale.

Then where was she?

Daria shifted her body and groaned lightly. Her body felt sore, as if she had been lying on this hot and hard ground for some time. She also felt extremely exhausted, but couldn't pinpoint why.

Daria still hadn't opened her eyes. Somehow, opening her eyes and confirming it, that she wasn't in Lawndale frightened her a bit. Even if she stated before that anywhere would have been better than Lawndale, this place didn't give off the feeling that it was better than Lawndale.

Where was she? Where had she been before this? More importantly, _how _did she end up here?

The sound of gravel crunching under boots interrupted her distressing thoughts; they were walking towards her.

The footsteps stopped next to her and a gruff, male voice then said, loudly, "Hey."

Daria continued to feign unconsciousness. She just wanted to be left alone, at least until she felt like figuring out things.

However, the man didn't take the hint, and continued to bother her, "Hey, get up. You cannot sleep here." His accent was thick, and she placed it to be either Armenian or Russian.

Daria still didn't move. Why couldn't this man just leave her alone?

The man then nudged her boot sharply. "Get up," he urged.

Daria groaned loudly in complaint and finally opened her eyes. She sent the man a brief glare before sitting up. He just simply looked at her.

The man was heavyset and tough-looking, but didn't seem unkind. He appeared to be in his fifties, and wore all white and an apron.

_Most likely a cook_, Daria thought.

She then took a moment to straighten her glasses and take in her surroundings. She frowned. She was right, she wasn't in Lawndale. All around was sand, dead weeds, dead bushes, and a deserted highway that seemed to go on forever to the left and to the right.

_Desert_, Daria acknowledged. That didn't help, though. She still had no idea where she was.

The man held his hand out to her. "Here, get up."

Daria didn't take his hand. She stood up by herself, wanting to prove, to him and herself, that she was okay, even though, she felt far from it.

"Where am I?" she asked, surprised at how calm her voice was considering the circumstances.

The man looked around, extended his arms and spun slowly in a small circle, gesturing to the surroundings. "You. Are. _Here_," he said, his tone a little amused, a little sad.

Daria looked at him dryly. "Well, that helps," she remarked sardonically. "At least I can conclude, without a doubt, that I am _not _at the mall."

"Mall?" he asked curiously.

Daria shook her head dismissingly, but stopped quickly and grimaced at the pain of a headache beginning. "I don't know…. I don't know how I got here," she explained as she brushed dirt off herself as best she could.

The man nodded, like he already knew that she'd say that. He then silently, intensely scrutinized her.

Daria felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze, but she needed answers, and, well, he was the only one around.

"Ah-ha!" he exclaimed suddenly, grabbing both her arms at the elbows.

Daria jumped, startled, trying to pull her arms out of his strong grasp. "Hey!?" she snapped irritated.

"_This _is how you get here," he declared, his hands sliding down her arms and resting on her wrists.

Daria looked at him confused, "Huh?"

"Under sleeves of jacket; it's how you come here," the man insisted, letting her go, and then put his right hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I'm guessing," he added, somewhat unsurely. "Could be a Hanger, but, see, no bruise," he said, gesturing at her neck. "No. I see you as a Bleeder," he finished casually.

Daria just stared at the man incredulously, wondering if she should put some distance between him and her. Some very _vast _distance. But, just out of curiosity, she raised her left sleeve and gasped.

"There! I knew it," he said, but not proudly or gloating, mostly pityingly.

Daria studied her left arm in horror. There were two deep gashes, one across an artery and one down the middle of her arm. Next, she looked at her right arm and saw that it held the same two gashes.

"I don't get it," Daria said softly, tears welling suddenly in her eyes.

The man sighed and explained, "You took Life. But you only end Life." He gave a bitter chuckle. "Apparently, Unhappiness is forever." He then offered his hand, "Mordy, by the way."

She didn't take his hand, too lost in thought as she tried to remember what she had been doing before waking up here. She found that she couldn't.

Mordy simply let his hand drop and looked her over. "You such a little thing," he commented. "How old you?"

Daria quickly wiped at her eyes, "Um, seventeen," she answered.

Mordy nodded, "So young," he said sympathetically.

Daria only shrugged uncomfortably. "Okay. So, I know _how _I got here - sort of," she said uncertainly. "But I don't get _why_. Why am I here? I can't…I can't remember," she said somewhat anxiously.

Mordy shrugged. "I don't know either, but you will remember; it take time," he promised. "And believe me, you have time."

Daria nodded and took a deep breath, trying to comprehend what was happening to her. Suddenly, obscure memories arose: Herself in her room, she was alone in the house, she was upset. Then only one thought resonated.

"Jane," she breathed, but she was a bit foggy on how Jane factored into this whole mess.

Mordy looked at her concerned. "You gonna be all right?" he asked.

"How okay were _you_ when you figured out you were dead," Daria scoffed and then looked unsure. "I am dead, right?"

"Yeah, you dead," Mordy answered, and then shrugged indifferently. "And I deal. Nothing you can do about being dead. Why get upset?"

Daria sighed and nodded. "Right. Then I guess I'm going to be okay." She looked around the area again, this time taking in detail.

Specifically, she was at the edge of a dirt parking lot. It had only a few cars parked in it. On the other side of the lot was what seemed to be a restaurant - probably Mordy's, if her guess of him being a cook was right. There were a few people hanging around in front of the restaurant and in the parking lot, but none of them looked her way. Further out, there were dilapidated, vacant or scarcely inhabited looking buildings.

_It could be considered a town. Sort of_, Daria thought. She then looked at Mordy, unsurely, and asked, "So, what do I do now?" She cringed slightly at how much like a child she sounded.

"You come with me. I help you," Mordy said resolutely, grasping her shoulder and led her towards the restaurant. Daria simply let him.

As she walked with Mordy, Daria wondered how to officially state this moment. Was she beginning her new life or entering her afterlife?

None of this made sense, but Daria reckoned, as Mordy had said, that she would have time to figure all this out. _Lots _of time.

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(Yes, Mordy is supposed to talk that way.)

**Note: **I'd appreciate it if someone who has read the original or remembers it and decided to read this version, would leave a review and let me know if this version is better, worse, or at least all right. Although, all comments are welcome anyway. Also, con-crit is much more appreciated than just flat-out flames. Thank you.


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